The Best of Times (17 page)

“Yeah, well, thanks. Who can I ask about him?” The girl sounded hostile.

“Well, I’m not sure,” Abi said. “They’re pretty busy, as you can see. I suppose the women over there on the desk would be best. But a doctor did return him to me saying he was fine—”

“Yeah, well, I want to hear it from them,” she said. “What’s he doing with you, anyway?”

“Well, I was involved in the crash,” Abi said. “I was with a friend and we weren’t hurt, and he got the boys out of the minibus and left
me in charge of them while he went to see if there was anything else he could do. And then when the ambulance came for … for your little boy, he wanted me to go with him. So I did. We’d become friends by then, hadn’t we, Shaun?”

Shaun nodded, tentatively putting out his hand again, into hers.

“Oh, yeah. Well—thanks anyway.” His mother spoke begrudgingly looking Abi up and down, clearly taking in her tight trousers and her spike-heeled boots. “Give over, Shaun; don’t hang on to me like that—I can’t hardly breathe.”

Abi felt a rush of rage. “He’s had a horrible time, you know. Really horrible. the … the driver of the minibus was … well, he didn’t survive, and I think Shaun needs lots of reassurance, you know?”

“Mum, it was horrible,” Shaun said. “Mr. Douglas, he was killed; he was all covered with blood and—”

“I don’t really want to hear,” said the girl. “Just try not to think about it, Shaun; that’s the best thing. Come on, say good-bye to the lady and let’s go and try to find a doctor, make sure you’re all right.”

“Bye, Abi,” Shaun said. “Thanks for looking after me and the singing; I liked the singing.”

“Singing!” said the girl as they moved off. “What on earth you been singing for? Whose daft idea was that? Come on, and you, Mum, over here …”

Shaun was led away, and Abi wearily walked over to the desk.

“Any chance of a taxi to the nearest station, would you think?” she said.

“You could try,” said one of the women. “Don’t rate your chances.”

She handed Abi a few cards; Abi rummaged in her bag for her phone. It wasn’t there.

• • •

“How are you feeling now?” The nurse smiled into Mary’s eyes. “Bit better?”

“Yes. A little. Very tired, that’s the worst thing. So tired …”

“Well, that’s quite usual, considering what you’ve been through. They’ll be taking you to the theatre in a minute.”

“The theatre? I don’t need surgery; I haven’t been injured.”

“Of course not, dear. But they’re going to have a look at that heart of yours; it’s not working too well just at the moment. Dr. Phillips wants to be quite sure.”

“Who’s Dr. Phillips? And what isn’t he sure about?”

“He’s one of the cardiologists. He’ll be along in a minute, and you can ask him yourself.”

“Honestly,” said Mary, “I’m fine. I keep telling you. And I have to get out of here; I’m so worried.”

“Now, why are you worried? Your family have been notified; they’re all fine; they’re on their way—”

“No, not my family. I was meant to be meeting an old friend at the airport, and … oh, dear. He’ll still be waiting. Can we get a message to him somehow, please—”

“I’m sure we can. Do you have a number for him, a mobile, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t,” said Mary, and started to cry. “I lost it in the crash. I was supposed to be meeting him at the Hertz desk, at Heathrow.”

“And then where were you going? Home?”

“No, no, to a hotel. The Dorchester.”

“Well, maybe we could call there.”

“Oh, that would be very kind. Would you?” Mary gave the nurse Russell’s name.

“Of course. Straightaway. Now you try to have a little rest. Just until Dr. Phillips comes.”

She bustled away, and Mary relaxed a little.

Unfortunately, as the nurse reached the nursing station a new patient arrived from the theatre, after which yet another elderly lady was brought straight up from A&E, deeply distressed; Mary’s call was first postponed and then forgotten.

• • •

“Emma, why don’t you go home? Everyone’s done, either on the wards or in ITU.”

“I want to check on the baby, the preemie one, caught in the crash, see if it’s OK.”

She made her way to maternity. The baby was a lusty four-pound boy, in an incubator, but the prognosis was excellent.

The father was sitting by his wife’s bed, holding her hand; she was asleep.

“Thank you so much,” he said, smiling up at Emma. “You really helped her down there. I’m so grateful.”

“It was nothing. I’m sorry I couldn’t have stayed with her longer; obstetrics is my specialty. Or will be. But I’m on A and E at the moment, and there was rather a lot to do. Well, take care of both of them.”

“I will …”

In the corridor, she saw a young man and a middle-aged couple standing looking very distressed.

“Hi,” she said. “Can I help; are you looking for someone?”

“Our son,” said the woman. “He was in that accident today, you know—”

“I do know,” said Emma, “I work in A and E.”

“Oh, my goodness. Well, perhaps you know what’s happened to him. We were told he’d been taken to the theatre, but that was hours ago, and now we’ve been sent up here … Oh, dear …”

She started to cry; Emma put her hand on her arm.

“Tell me his name, and I’ll see what I can find out for you. Everyone’s been so busy today.”

“Of course. We appreciate that,” said the man. “Weston’s his name, Toby Weston.”

“Right. Look, there’s a waiting room down there; it’s got a coffee machine, and you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll get back to you as soon as I possibly can, hopefully in a few minutes.”

The ward sister was very brisk; she was clearly exhausted.

“He’s only just been brought here … Holding his own, that’s all I
can say. No chest injuries, and his neck’s OK. CT scan showed that. And quite a mild concussion, but that leg is a mess. The main danger is infection. I don’t need to tell you that. He’s on a morphine drip, pretty out of it, poor lad. Tell them his condition’s serious but stable; that’s always a good one. Don’t want to get their hopes up too much; don’t want to scare them.”

“Thanks, Sister. I’m going home now, but I’ll tell the Westons what you said. Can they see him? They seem very sensible.”

“Maybe in an hour or so, for a few minutes.”

• • •

The young man was standing in the doorway of the waiting room when Emma went back; he was rather curiously dressed, in slightly baggy striped trousers with braces hanging down and a T-shirt. He was white faced and looked completely exhausted.

“Hi,” he said. “What … that is, any news?”

“Well … he’s stable. Serious, but stable. And if he’s stable then he’s coping. But still quite ill. So what happened? Were you there?”

“I was in the car with him,” he said. “We were going to his wedding.”

“That was you, was it? How awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes. Look, I’d better go and tell his parents. They’re in a terrible state.”

“I’ll come and tell them if you like,” she said. “People always prefer to hear from doctors directly.”

She went in, smiling her professional smile.

“Hello, again. Well, the news isn’t too bad. He is seriously ill, lost a lot of blood, and the wound to his leg is quite extensive, but he is stable.”

“Oh, thank God,” said the man. He blew his nose rather hard. “There you are, darling, what did I tell you?”

“Can we see him?” asked Mrs. Weston.

“Well … not yet. Sister says she’d rather you waited for another hour or so. Then you can see him, but only for a few minutes. And he
may not be properly awake even then. Oh, and I should warn you, they’ve fitted his leg with an external fixator: that’s a sort of cagelike frame outside the leg, with pins going through to the bone. It may look a bit alarming, but don’t worry.”

“We don’t mind,” said Mrs. Weston, wiping her eyes. “We don’t mind anything. We just want to see him. Thank you so much … er—”

“Dr. King,” said Emma, smiling.

“You don’t look old enough to be a doctor,” said Mr. Weston.

Emma smiled at him determinedly; that was the variation of not looking like one. It usually came from older men.

“’Fraid I am,” she said. “Anyway, I’m leaving now. I’m off duty tomorrow, but I’ll be back on Sunday and I’ll see how he is then. Try not to worry. It sounds like he should be OK.”

“Thank you so much,” said Mrs. Weston.

“I think I might come down with you,” said the young man, “if that’s all right. I … well, I could do with a bit of fresh air. I won’t be long,” he said to the Westons.

“You take your time, Barney. We’re not going anywhere.”

“What I could really do with,” he said to Emma once they were in the lift, “is a fag. I expect you think that’s terrible.”

“Of course I don’t. I still smoke myself occasionally. When I’m out.”

“Yeah?” He grinned at her. “Well … I plan to give up one day. Very soon.”

“Great. Right now I should think you need one. So what happened? Or don’t you want to talk about it?”

“I … don’t have that clear an idea,” he said. “This lorry suddenly swerved in front of us. Went right through the barrier. And we … we had a … a blowout. I think. Trying to stop. And then … well, then it’s all a bit of a blur. We finished up embedded in another car. I don’t know why I didn’t catch it as well. I … Oh, shit sorry.” His voice quavered; he dashed his hand across his eyes. “It was pretty bloody scary. The whole thing.”

They had reached the ground floor; she ushered him to the main door; he stood leaning against the glass, taking deep breaths.

“Look—sit down here for a bit. You’re obviously pretty shattered.”

“Yeah. I feel a bit … sick actually. Sorry. I—”

He bolted for some bushes, was gone for a while, came back looking shamefaced.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sinking down beside her on the steps. “Not very cool.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll get you some water; stay there.”

When she came back, he still had his head in his hands.

“Thanks,” he said, “you’re very kind.”

“All part of the service.”

“What sort of a doctor are you, then?”

“I’m going to be a surgeon, I hope. An obstetric surgeon.”

“Sounds very impressive. Did you see Tobes when he arrived?”

“I did, yes, but only very briefly. It’s been a nightmare day.”

“I bet.” He held out his hand. “Barney Fraser.”

“Hi, Barney. Were you going to be the best man?”

“Yup. I was.”

“How’s the bride; how’s she coping?”

“Pretty badly, I think,” said Barney. His tone was dismissive. “She’s too upset to come tonight, apparently.”

“I see. Well, I’d better go. I’m quite … tired.”

“I bet you are. Thanks so much, Dr. King.”

“Emma, actually. Bye, then, Barney. Good luck. And … I know it’s nothing to do with me, but you should take it easy for a couple of days. You’ve had an awful shock. Don’t expect to just feel fine because it’s over.”

Thinking about him as she drove her car out of the hospital, she reflected that he was really rather good-looking, with his spiky brown hair and sort of hazel eyes with darker flecks in them and that gorgeous smile. She wondered if he had a girlfriend; and then mentally
slapped herself.
Emma, you’re obsessed. You’ve got a perfectly good boyfriend of your own. Get a grip
.

• • •

Linda was just going to bed when she decided she couldn’t ignore the fact any longer that Georgia might have been caught up in the crash that had filled the evening news.

With some reluctance and a strong feeling of dread, she called the Linley household, bracing herself for the worst.

“Bea, I’m sorry to call so late. Linda Di-Marcello here. I wonder … if you’ve heard from Georgia.”

“Oh, hello, Linda. Yes, she’s arrived home safely. Bit weary. And very disappointed she didn’t get the part, of course. But I’ve told her there’s always another time, and I’m sure you’d say the same. She’s asleep, but I’ll tell her you called. It’s very kind of you, thank you so much.”

• • •

Georgia was lying under the covers, her pillow over her face to smother the sound of her weeping. It was a terrible thing she’d done: so terrible. And how was she ever going to put it right?

CHAPTER 14